


He Who Laughs Last

by gracefulally



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-22
Updated: 2006-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefulally/pseuds/gracefulally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately following "Not Fade Away," Lindsey reminds us that it's hard to keep a wicked man down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Who Laughs Last

_”Good night, folks.”_

A black pistol slips from the empath’s fingers and clatters to the stone floor. Placing a deep brown fedora atop his horned head, the demon pulls the brim low to shadow his features and soundlessly makes his way toward the destroyed bar’s door. The motionless bodies of creatures beneath his feet are ignored and he doesn’t look back to the mortally wounded man splayed half on the floor and half against a wall, cut down in a final moment of triumph--all according to plan, a plan which no longer included provisions for the fallen warrior or the solemn hit man. Ducking out into the alley, the demon vanished soundlessly into the night.

Now that’s one hell of a dramatic ending if you ask me, but wouldn’t you know it? I missed every God blessed second. Green boy’s one fine showman too. Bet it was a real tearjerker even. Damn. Sorry I didn’t get to see it.

To tell you the truth though, I’m glad he had the decency--or stupidity--to not put a couple more holes in me for good measure. You see, there’s another twist inherent in this story that Angel never figured. Sure, the cowboy rode out of the town on the horse he came in on, slumped in the saddle after a sneak put a bullet in him, but who says the story has to end when the credits roll?

Some say that cowboy was dead before he even reached the crest of Cemetery Hill, but I’ve always given the man a bit more respect than that and now look at me. Already have the bullet holes and dusted boots, just need the chaps and six shooters to make the mockup complete.

Life imitating art can sure be a bitch.

Bet ol’ Lorne never imagined this could happen, but hell, never thought he’d have the stones to put a double tap in my chest either. People--and demons--sure can surprise you. My estimation of the Angel influence factor was in serious need of revaluation. I’ll worry about that later though. There are two very tiny, but overtly more pressing matters that need to be dealt with and pronto.

Turns out, gun shots hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and two can put the blinding ache in you even more so than one. Surprising, right? In response, the human body has this entire support system to handle pain. Sometimes though, it was a downright threatening overload to a man’s engine block. A monkey wrench tossed into the gears. The last straw, camel’s back--you get the picture.

Pain like that, you don’t grit your teeth and bear it. Hell yeah you’ll try, but knowing you’re going to do nothing but holler and crash a few more systems, your body will drop your ass to the ground in favor of a reboot. Nature’s little joke in making you faint like a starlet? Maybe. Saved my ass nonetheless.

I’m guessing Lorne had only been gone mere moments when I hacked and sputtered back to consciousness. Everything was blurred, ears dully ringing, and I found an entirely knew definition to the phrase ‘tunnel vision’. Goose bumps prickled over my skin in a cold wash as the clammy sweat began to bead on my upper lip. Breaths slow and shallow, my chest became numb from the ache that throbbed with each heartbeat.

Let’s not pussyfoot around the issue. Saying I was in “bad shape” would be far from accurate. I was dying, and it wasn’t as quick or slow as you might think. Everyone pigeonholes me as the jaded jackass. A man with no purpose other than to destroy Angel. Well, you’d be half right for thinking that. The Champ’s been screwing my life from the moment he barged into it uninvited. Damn right I want to pay the asshole his due. Calling me a ‘man’ though, now there’s the mistake.

When I went to Nepal, I picked up a few new tricks and things. Never did go into a lot of detail for fang-head and his white hats though. Don’t imagine I’d have as much freedom if they’d known what I really was, what I’d become while I was on my soul searching vacation through the Himalayas.

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. “Lindsey’s traded up for a demon monk’s spleen” or some other overly contrived bullshit explanation for my recently acquired abilities, but hear me out. It ain’t all that complicated.

Man can learn a lot in two years when he puts his mind and his money to it. I’ve already signed my soul away to Satan’s keeper and this body isn’t getting any younger. Never was much for running from my problems either. Call me a dumbass, but I’d prefer to go down in the blaze of fighting than with my back turned in flight--must be that whole southern culture of honor principle. That’s another story for another day and hopefully one where I’m not expiring on a floor of a demon hideout.

Like I was saying, man can learn a lot in two years and when he’s got a damn near prophet for a teacher it goes way beyond the terms of ‘higher education’. My life didn’t just change in those several months in that monastery. I was reborn. My old stomping ground in Oklahoma and my home here in California, they weren’t the same world to me anymore. I’ll save you the tree-hugging ravings that my mentor would spew, but he wasn’t entirely nuts. The life energy of the earth that so many are ignorant to, I can feel it now. Control it even. It’s a feeling I can hardly put into words and definitely not English ones.

Sounds like complete bullshit doesn’t it? Being a man capable of affecting the flow of the universe without all that “boil, boil, toil and trouble” crap? Don’t blame you. I didn’t believe the half of it at first myself. Glad I warmed up to the idea though, otherwise Angel would get his way and I would be an addition to the body count of that bar in another five to ten minutes. Stupid name aside, being a powerful warlock definitely has its advantages.

My body wasn’t much for moving and the mind was sluggish at best, but I knew what I had to do and that it better be fast or my world was about to get a lot hotter--and not in a good way. Struggling through the pained breaths, I focused on turning over my left hand. A shudder ran through my shoulders and there was a tinkling of metal from a bracelet as the hand flopped out obediently, the movement causing a feeling of ghosting air over the sweaty palm that I weakly aimed at my general chest area.

Feverishly, I began the incantation that came as whispers between short breaths. The demonic tongue rolled out of me like a first language and my feet went cold as my chest warmed. I could feel the bullet fragments detach from their clots and slowly begin retreating through the holes in my flesh. The pain, if possible, was worse than before, but I didn’t have the option of crying out. I had to finish this or I’d surely be dead just from trying.

Tears prickled at my eyes when they pushed past the nerves near my shattered ribs. I’m certain that if I wasn’t beat to hell, this would be going a lot faster. As it was though, my voice rose in volume every half second and the rest of my body tensed in anxiety. The bullets were soon free and my graveled shouts of the murky language were nearing hysterical as I brought my hand closer to repair the damage.

When my calloused fingertips gently brushed against the bruises where there had previously been open wounds, I crumpled into a boneless heap. My eyes fluttered closed as I sucked in air in deep pants. The hair around my face had become stringy with moisture and my shirt was stuck fast to my body, soaked through by a mixture of blood and sweat.

Where was a Goddamn guardian angel when you needed one? Yeah, that was a riot, like the big guy upstairs would ever spare one for me. Thankfully I’d managed well enough on my own, but damn. This little incident had been way too close for comfort. Made me wonder why I’d trusted Lorne when I knew he batted for the other team. Hindsight was a damn infuriating thing.

I’m not sure how long I ended up laying there on the floor, but the morning light was peeking through the hole where I’d kicked in the door by the time I found the strength to drag my ass to my feet. Dizzy and off-balance, I caught onto the wall and abused it with a few choice phrases that would’ve warranted a mouth washing when I was boy. If only my mama could see me now. Would she be proud? Probably not. Looking for a handout though that I could guarantee.

Once I had my breathing under control and most of my wits about me, I made a collective glance around the bar. Damn, I sure had cleaned this place up and that would have made me laugh if the movement didn’t hurt so dang much. Without a word, I searched out my discarded weapon. I couldn’t stick around here all day. Be it the police or these dead jokers’ friends, I wouldn’t be alone much longer. Catching up my sword, I gave it once over before it transformed back into a simple knife that I shoved into a pocket.

Stepping over filleted demon parts and doing my best to ignore the stench of death--which is mightily worse when the bastards stink on the outside to begin with--I made my beat toward the door. I had to shield my eyes as I stepped out into the alley to squint at the glare of the morning glow.

That’s right, there was still a sun shining down on this city of evil. Albeit through some nasty smog, but no fire and brimstone as you might expect after what I was certain went down last night. Angel must have held the line. Well, ain’t that something? In the end though, that just meant more play time for him and me.

“It’s like I told you, big guy,” I addressed to no one but the sky. There was a click in my mouth as a wicked half-smile spread. “He who laughs last...”


End file.
